Besides, he had been brought up by a very religious woman, and a strong foundation of belief remained in him, and was really the basis of all his thinking about himself.  He had been careless, thoughtless, reckless, since his mother had died, but he had never lost that something to which a man may best go back in trouble.  Sometimes it hurt him, sometimes it comforted him vaguely, but he was always conscious that it was there, and had been there through all his wildest days.  It was not a very reasoning belief, for he was not an intellectual man, but it was unchangeable and solid still in spite of all his past weakness.  It bade him do right, blindly, and only because right was right; but it did not open his eyes to the terrible truth that whereas right is right, the Supreme Power, which is always in the right, does not take human life into consideration at all, and that a man is under all circumstances bound to consider the value of life to others, and sometimes its value to himself, when others depend upon him for their happiness, or safety, or welfare.

Animated by the most sincere wish to find the right direction and follow it—­perhaps because Aurora had said that she trusted him—­yet blind to the dangers that beset his path, there is no knowing how many lives Marcello might not have wrecked by acting on the resolutions he certainly would have made if he had been left to himself another hour.

He was deep in thought, his feet stretched out to the fire, his head leaning back against the leathern cushion of his chair, his eyes half closed, feeling that he was quite alone and beyond the reach of every one, if he chose to sit there until morning wrestling with his psychological problem.

He was roused by the sharp buzz of the telephone instrument which stood on the writing-table.  It was very annoying, and he wished he had turned it off before he had sat down, but since some one was calling he got up reluctantly to learn who wanted him at that hour.  He glanced at the clock, and saw that it was nearly half-past ten.  The instrument buzzed again as he reached the table.

“I want to see Signor Consalvi at once; is it too late?” asked a man’s voice anxiously.

“I am Consalvi.  Who are you, please?” asked Marcello.

“Kalmon.  Is it true that Corbario has left the villa?”

“Yes.  He left this afternoon.”

“Where is he now?”

“He drove to the railway station.  I don’t know where he is gone.  He left no address.”

“—­railway station—­no address—­” Marcello heard the words as Kalmon spoke to some other person at his elbow, wherever he was.

“May I come at once?” Kalmon asked.

“Yes.  I am alone.  I’ll have the lower gate opened.”

“Thanks.  I shall be at the gate in twenty minutes.  Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

Marcello hung up the receiver, rang the bell, and gave the order for the gate, adding that the gentleman who came was to be shown in at once.  Then he sat down and waited.